


the blackest night

by haetae



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Knight Quest (Final Fantasy XIV) Spoilers, Estranged Childhood Friends Reunite, Fantasy Racism, Found Family, Gratuitous Use of In-Game Dialogue, Identity Issues, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slight Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Trans Male Character, Trans Warrior of Light, headcanons ahoy, the slowest of burns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-01-23 11:03:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18548482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haetae/pseuds/haetae
Summary: Ishgard was cold in more ways than one. It’s why the Warrior of Light didn’t expect to run into a long lost piece of his past, nor find a family.--Rewrite of “to love”.





	1. warrior of light

**Author's Note:**

> Masaki looked up. Somehow, even though he couldn’t see the figure’s face with their helmet on, he thought they looked pleased. Their voice sounded eerily familiar when they spoke.
> 
> “You’ve much pain in your heart, no? That fragile heart of yours, so quick to love…”

 

He pulled his furs closer to his body as harsh, icy winds howled through Ishgard’s streets. There weren’t many people out. It was ideal for exploring the city-state a little further than the brief tour he and his were given, but that meant braving through one of Coerthas’ near daily winter storms. Though his teeth chattered slightly and his scales ached from the cold, Masaki didn’t think this particular storm was as bad as one of the harsher winters he survived back home.

The normally bustling streets of the markets were deserted. If there hadn’t been tarps covering shopkeepers’ stalls and an old but well-used marketboard, Masaki would’ve thought that hardly anyone came to this area. He could make out the soft, vague contours of cloth under one stall’s tarp, the hard edges of some weapon under another, and strangely clustered items under yet another. Masaki stopped by one particular stall at the end of the street. It almost looked… _lonely_ , in a sense, and out of place among well-covered, protected stalls with its bare, wooden structure exposed to the elements.

Just as he stepped closer to take a look, aether pulsed through his veins.

Masaki looked up, trying to pinpoint the feeling, when he felt something gently tugging him towards a direction. What was his Echo trying to show him? He followed his instincts and let the tugging sensation guide him.

Whatever was pulling him, it led him deeper within Ishgard towards the lower levels. The streets gradually became more broken and dirty the further he walked. He had to navigate rickety, wooden boards across yawning gaps and torn up debris littering the ground with care. As he crossed into what thought was the Brume, the aether in his veins hummed louder. This time, he could make out where his Echo was pointing him more clearly—down this street, up those steps.

When he reached his destination, his heart stopped. Then he hurried.

A crumpled, armored figure was propped up against the wall as if someone had carelessly tossed them there. Masaki knelt down beside the prone figure, his hands fluttering uselessly over their body. He felt his heart breaking the more he stared.

The figure’s armor was frosted over. Their head listed to the side that spoke of lifelessness. There was no warm air coming out from the grating in their helmet. There was no weapon beside them either—a figure this armored would’ve at least had a weapon on hand but….

This person was just left out in the cold for gods know how long. And they were alone. Had probably died alone, too. No one had come to even pay respects, as far as he could tell. A soul stuck within its body after death is bound to suffer in the earthly plane, with no ties nor guide to help them to proper rest. That was a miserable, lonely existence. Masaki could feel tears welling up in his eyes, not because of the bitter cold.

Then the aether in his veins hummed. His senses sharpened as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He glanced around himself. There wasn’t another soul in the immediate area, but it felt like there was _someone_ was nearby.

He turned to the frozen body.

For a brief second, something red flashed from within its helmet. The aether around him pulsed, as if it was breathing, and unfurled a vision before Masaki’s eyes.

The frozen body was now upright, tall and proud as they were in life. Their eyes were pale like ivory and their armor was well worn—not covered in ice. Masaki was paralyzed in place.

The figure offered a clenched, armored fist and slowly slackened their fingers, revealing a jagged, blood-red stone. Masaki felt drawn to the stone, and gently picked it from the figure’s hand to cradle in his own. As he held the stone against his chest, he felt a feeble warmth radiating from it.

“Good, good.”

Masaki looked up. Somehow, even though he couldn’t see the figure’s face with their helmet on, he thought they looked pleased. Their voice sounded eerily familiar when they spoke.

“You’ve much pain in your heart, no? That fragile heart of yours, so quick to love…”

His tail went rigid and the scales along his spine hardened, as if to shield himself from impending danger. The back of his neck prickled uneasily. It seemed like those ivory eyes could see straight through him.

The figure stepped closer and bent down to cup Masaki’s cheek.

“Open your eyes,” they whispered softly, as if to a lover. “It’s time to wake up.”

“ _Wake up!_ ”

Masaki gasped, blinking hard as snowflakes fell around him. He was on the ground, somehow, curled in on himself and clutching something to his chest. Someone shook his shoulder hard enough to snap him out of his daze.

“Oi, this isn’t the place to be sleeping in!”

Masaki sat up quickly and pushed himself onto his feet. He wobbled, but a stranger’s hand steadied his balance.

“You alright lad?”

It took him a minute to get his bearings before he finally saw the stranger helping him. A weathered, middle-aged elezen man with red hair on his chin stared at him. He looked reluctant and worried.

“Huh?” was all Masaki could say.

“I said, you alright? You were knocked out on these steps.” the elezen man said, slowly. “You with that bum with the horns too?”

Masaki squinted and tilted his head. Who?

“… Guess not then.” The elezen man sighed.

He looked over Masaki with a considering look in his eyes. Then he jerked his chin to a direction. “Come on. I don’t know what in the seven hells you’re doing out here, but I won’t let you freeze to death three fulms away from my establishment.”

He waited for Masaki to follow him. Masaki, for a lack of a better option, bumbled after the elezen man in his groggy state. During their silent walk to wherever the man was heading to, Masaki felt something in his gloved hand. He looked down at his still clenched fist pressed against his chest. Swallowing thickly, he slowly opened his hand.

A jagged, blood-red stone glinted at him.

 

* * *

 

“Here we are,” the man said.

He stopped in front of a set of double doors. Masaki narrowed his eyes at the building itself. It didn’t look much, but he vaguely remembers the guide saying something about a tavern. Was this it?

“Welcome to the Forgotten Knight,” the man continued, and Masaki snapped out of it in time to see the man open the doors.

He led Masaki inside into a warm room. They were on the upper floor on a railed platform of sorts looking over the lower level, where a fireplace crackled heartily and tables and stools were placed haphazardly throughout. The man took the staircase down. Masaki stayed behind, staring at the building’s interior. There were a couple of workers cleaning up, but it was otherwise empty.

“Well?”

Masaki snapped out of it and turned to the elezen man staring up at him from the lower level.

“Don’t dally up threre—there’s a terrible draft. Come down already.” the man said, before he headed towards the bar area.

Masaki blushed. He walked down the staircase, holding onto the railing in case his balance somehow failed him. When he reached the lower level, the heat from the fireplace began to thaw his body. He hadn’t noticed how cold he’d been until now. Masaki headed straight for the fireplace and squatted down in front of it, greedily soaking up the warmth. His eyes slipped close as he hummed in contentment.

“What, not even having a drink?”

Masaki glanced over his shoulder to the elezen man making some sort of drink behind the bar counter. He made a noise that was akin to “no”, then turned back to warm himself by the fire in his furs. He heard a snort behind him.

“Name’s Gibrillont, by the by. What’s yours?”

Masaki’s tongue suddenly felt thick. This was what he dreaded most, every time he interacted with someone new. He opened his mouth, closed it, then worked his jaw. As he thought about his predicament, he heard Gibrillont snort behind him again.

“It’s fine if you don’t talk. Besides, not many around here look like you. You’re famous around these parts.”

Masaki whipped his head around so fast, he lost his balance and fell over. He flailed for a moment, his furs weighing down on him and tangling his limbs, before he could right himself again. The workers and Gibrillont shared a good laugh over it.

“Didn’t peg you for a clumsy type,” Gibrillont teased.

Masaki felt his cheeks burn as he recollected himself and shuffled towards the bar area to take a seat. When he sat down, he fixed Gibrillont with a curious stare. Gibrillont didn’t seem fazed at all, even as he cleaned the drinking glasses and minded the bar. The other workers bade Gibrillont farewell as they shuffled off to the inn, Gibrillont only nodding his thanks before returning to idle work. Masaki started fidgeting in place. Alphinaud and Tataru and Haurchefant must be worried. He should be getting back soon, and the storm wasn’t _that_ bad. 

“It’s still nasty outside,” Gibrillont suddenly said, and Masaki nearly jumped out of his seat. “I’d rather you don’t risk going out there again until the storm dies down.”

Masaki fidgeted again, guiltily this time. He couldn’t stay here for very long, either way. Just as he was about to thank Gibrillont and get up, he heard the back door slam open behind him. The newcomer grumbled loudly, clanking in armor, as they entered. Masaki craned his head to see who was coming in and froze.

“Gibrillont, I have the…” the newcomer froze too, trailing off as soon as he saw Masaki.

Masaki felt his throat go dry.

“… Sidurgu?”

 

 


	2. sidurgu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “To the old and the infirm, the young and the weak, this right we allow. Very well. Who will stand for this woman?”
> 
> Just as Sidurgu had half a mind to storm in and cut down the wretched accusers himself, the doors slammed open. He turned towards the sound and found his throat dry.
> 
> It was the au ra from the other day.

The inn just needed a bit more food. It was enough that Gibrillont agreed to shelter Sidurgu and the girl for the time being, but that meant Sidurgu had to go out and hunt their own food like he was training under Ser Ompagne all over again. (At least he was armored and properly trained this time, and not running around blindly swinging a dull blade.

 _All that training and still Fray died_ , a traitorous little voice whispered inside his head. Sidurgu elected to ignore it and continue slinking around in the snow, blade at the ready.)

Though he hadn’t expected a storm to blow in so soon and so unexpectedly. He cursed his luck, gathered what he could, and turned back towards Ishgard. He had hares and a wild karakul to sneak past the guardsmen.

Sidurgu wrapped the hares in cloth and slung them to his belt. The real problem was sneaking the karakul past the guards, even as small as it was for its own kind. He grumbled to himself, wondering what in Halone’s icy hell he was thinking when he ran the little creature through with his blade, and slung it over his shoulders. Speaking of icy hells, the storm was getting worse. The scales on his cheeks and chin ached from the cold, but Sidurgu grit his teeth and trekked through the snow.

By the time he arrived at the Gates of Judgment, the storm had grown fierce and unforgiving. He figured that it served as perfect cover—Ishgardians may be hardy, but none had a death wish when it came to winter storms such as these. Sidurgu tried not to think too deeply on what that meant for him to be out and about in the middle of a blizzard.

As far as he could tell, the guards probably stationed themselves someplace warmer—leaving the gates locked but unattended. Frosted metal ensured no outsiders would be forcing their way through any time soon, but Sidurgu stepped around the gates entirely. Instead, he climbed the wall that separated the gates from the Steps of Faith.

Slotting his armored fingers between cracks in ice-slick stone was a difficult feat in and of itself—doing that while carrying several dozen ponzes of extra weight was even more challenging. Still, he was stubborn and he’d had much practice over the years. Sidurgu reached the top in no time, and slung himself up and over.

He squinted through his blurry vision and against the white, trying to make out the Steps of Faith. The magical wards glimmered in blue radiance, but did little to help him differentiate snow covered brick from, well, snow falling into the abyss below. Even with the various furs he’d piled on under his armor before setting out, Sidurgu felt like he was going to lose a horn to frostbite if he didn’t hurry.

“Godsdamn Coerthas and its blasted snow…” he muttered darkly, gripping the now frozen karakul over his shoulders tightly. Damn it all, he’ll just have to make the jump and hope the winds won’t knock him out of range.

With a grunt, he leapt across the fulms of empty space towards the stone bridge.

He landed with less grace than he expected. Sidurgu crashed so hard he felt his head jar with the motion. The karakul tumbled out of his grip with an unpleasant, wet _crack_ . His entire left side ached fiercely—Sidurgu was sure he would see pretty bruises from shoulder to thigh by the morn. He cursed for a good while, rolling over to cradle his hurts as the wind howled over him. Then he finally collected himself, his kills, got back onto his feet, and continued on his merry _fucking_ way.

Getting in the city afterwards was easy enough, all things considered. He had no trouble navigating the less taken streets and back alleys even with the stupid karakul dangling from his shoulders and three crushed hares at his hip. Blood in the Brume was a common sight anyway.

Sidurgu was shivering from head to toe when he finally arrived at the Forgotten Knights back entrance. He all but kicked open the door and stomped his way in, not bothering to mind the attention he was undoubtedly attracting.

“Gibrillont, I have the…”

Sidurgu trailed off as soon as he saw the au ra sitting at the bar, staring at him. He didn’t know what to think. He thought he’d been the last one in Ishgard after what happened to his clan and _yet_ —

“Sidurgu?”

He turned to the slight girl peeking out of the inn doors. Rielle yawned and shuffled out towards him.

“You’re back,” she murmured.

“… I’m back.” Sidurgu replied without venom, in spite of himself. Damn him and his _softness_.

As soon as he turned back to Gibrillont, he remembered the behemoth in the room gaping at him. He scowled, dumped his kills on the bar counter (“You bloody _arse_ , at least don’t get blood all over the place!” Gibrillont scolded), and herded Rielle back to safety away from those prying eyes. He couldn’t tell what he was feeling, but it certainly wasn’t _good_ and he didn’t like the way those strange eyes stared at him like they knew something he didn’t.

The fact that there was another au ra like him also made him feel cold and hot all over.

“Do you know that man…?” Rielle asked out of curiosity, because she was young and far too perceptive for her age.

(Actually, Sidurgu didn’t even know how old she was, just that she was somewhere between a child and an adult. In any case, he found her precociousness unsettling and annoying.)

“No,” he snapped. “Forget him, just go sleep and wait till Gibrillont brings food.”

Rielle frowned. She didn’t say anything else, but he could read the plain doubt on her face. He narrowed his eyes at her, only for Rielle to narrow her eyes back and stick her tongue out at him before trotting off to their shared inn room. Sidurgu grumbled about brats and their lack of respect before he lumbered after her.

 

* * *

 

He didn’t remember falling asleep with a blanket draped over him. Even worse was that he didn’t feel the urge to glare at it as he usually would. Damn brats and their damned _softness_ infecting him. The domesticity made his skin prickle uncomfortably even as he shoved the blanket off.

Sidurgu rubbed his eyes and pushed himself up from the floorboards with a quiet groan. He gingerly stretched his back and tail, minding his bruised side. His neck and somewhere in his back cracked with the movement. Fray would’ve taken the moment to snort at him and shove his aching side purposefully with a laugh. Except, Fray wasn’t there to kick him awake like old times nor idle next to the door as usual. It was _wrong_ , like everything was just maddeningly, slightly off-balance without Fray to keep him steady.

Sidurgu clamped down the emotion trying to claw up his chest and forced himself to get to his feet. He saw the unmade bed and heard quiet shuffling in the bathroom next door. Rielle must’ve gotten up before him. He shuffled towards his discarded armor in the corner of the inn room, raking a hand through his hair, and plopped down on his arse to inspect the damage from yesterday more closely.

It looked like his shoulder and elbow guards took to brunt of his fall, but otherwise it was still fit for battle. Sidurgu squinted at the sides of his chestpiece. The fastenings looked a bit weak—probably made weaker from the fall. He needed to replace those at some point. And food—he needed to get more food for Rielle. She looked stick thin from whatever hell she endured before she had the misfortune of running into Temple Knights.

“Sid?”

He looked over his shoulder. Rielle stood by the bathroom door, hands twisting the hem of her dress.

“… I’m done using the baths.”

Sidurgu nodded and got up with a grunt. As he passed Rielle, he jerked his chin in a direction behind him. “Don’t forget to make the bed.”

Rielle nodded back and shuffled off obediently. He half expected her to make another childish face at him as she did yesterday, but she looked as solemn as she did when he first met her. Strange. Sidurgu couldn’t get a good read on her. For a moment, he wished that he was brave enough to be gentle like Fray was. Then he promptly tossed that thought aside to quickly clean himself for the day (and maybe scrub off that unsettling _sentimentality_ while he was at it).

When he and Rielle were finished with their respective chores, Sidurgu led Rielle out of their room into the tavern. He scanned the area and found that it was empty as yesterday. Surely the storm must’ve died down by now. And the other au ra from yesterday was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, you’re up? Slept well?”

He turned to see Gibrillont lounging at the bar counter, smoking a pipe. Sidurgu narrowed his eyes and approached him, Rielle trailing after him much like a duckling.

“Where’s the other one?” Sidurgu demanded. Gibrillont sighed a billow of smoke in reply.

“‘Yes, thank you, how’s your day?’ Oh I’m doing fine, lad.” Gibrillont drawled with a roll of his eyes. Sidurgu bristled and ground his teeth. The proprietor sighed again, tamped down his pipe, and shrugged. “He left. Simple as that.”

Sidurgu grumbled. He had too many questions left unanswered and gods know what will become of that other au ra. A wasted opportunity, then.

“Thank you,” a small voice piped up. Sidurgu turned to see Rielle fidgeting beside him. “For, um, giving us a place to stay.”

Gibrillont smiled. Of course he’d be soft on the girl.

“Anytime, lass. You and yours have helped me enough.” Gibrillont cast a knowing look in Sidurgu’s direction before he put out his pipe. Sidurgu felt prickly all over. “Anyroad, people will start coming in soon. Best be mindful.”

Sidurgu reluctantly nodded his thanks. The proprietor knew him long enough, knew Fray when they were still alive, and had been the one to break the news. Perhaps the only reason Gibrillont was tolerating Sidurgu’s attitude at the moment was because he knew too much to fault him. It made Sidurgu feel sick. Pity. Always the _pitying_.

He turned on his heel and stomped towards the dark corner he’d claimed for himself and Rielle. There, they watched the patrons begin to trickle into the tavern. It was a strange sort of ritual—they’d stake out in their little corner and watch for that fateful chainmail and emblem that belonged to Temple Knights. Rielle was small and quiet, hardly noticeable with her plain features. Sidurgu’s glare was enough to ward off anyone from their little corner.

Today, traffic was more or less the usual and the same old drunkards settled in. Rielle hummed, moreso out of boredom than anything else, as Sidurgu continued studying each customer coming in and ordering ale.

Then the tiny girl came.

He leaned forward slightly. If he hadn’t been keeping vigil, he would’ve missed her coming in; she was the shortest girl he’d ever seen. Rielle must have noticed too, because she’d stopped humming.

“It’s her again,” she whispered. He gave an affirmative grunt as he watched the girl chat up customers with a winsome smile and easy charm.

For the past week or so, the girl in the feathered beret had been coming to the tavern and making herself comfortable among shady characters. It was… rather startling, to say the least (especially after seeing her calm a burly, pushy drunk larger than Sidurgu with a word and a wink). There was an almost frenetic quality to her movements today, though. Sidurgu watched closely—had she fallen on rough times? The din of the tavern made it hard to make out whatever she was saying. Lip reading wasn’t Sidurgu’s talent, but he tried anyway.

“… seen anything…?” the tiny girl seemed to be asking, complete with a head tilt and pout.

Whatever she was looking for, her conversation partner didn’t have any answers and told her such. She frowned but bounced back to her usual cheerfulness. Sidurgu narrowed his eyes. What was she up to?

The calm lull suddenly broke as soon as the front doors slammed open. He quickly tugged Rielle further into their own corner, pressing his back against the wall, as the all-too-familiar march of armored boots stormed down the staircase.

“Tataru Taru,” a deep voice bellowed, “you are under arrest for suspected heretical activity. Come quietly or there will be consequences.”

“Wh— _heretical activities?_ ” the tiny girl—Tataru Taru, apparently—squeaked. “Surely there’s been a misunderstanding—”

 _Scrrtch._ The hiss of someone drawing their blade cut Tataru off.

“We will not ask again.”

There was a tense moment that seemed to stretch infinitely. Then the knights marched out with nary another word—Sidurgu assumed they took the girl with them. He waited a few more moments, just to be safe, then slowly released his death grip on Rielle and immediately felt guilty. She looked as pale as a ghost, if not paler. Sidurgu gritted his teeth.

“Sorry,” he grunted, folding his arms so he wouldn’t somehow bruise her again. “You alright?”

Rielle was silent for a tense moment, then she nodded slightly. “I’m okay.”

Something unwound in his chest at that, and a weight was lifted from his shoulders. Then Sidurgu cast his eyes back to the staircase.

Something was very wrong here, and the rest of the tavern knew it by the sound of their confused whispers. He felt a lump form in his throat. They were probably taking that tiny girl to the Tribunal to be tried and executed, just as they had done to Fray. Worse yet, she probably couldn’t defend herself.

“We’re going,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Rielle immediately nodded. No doubt she’d been thinking of Fray too—after all, she’d been close to them.

Together, Sidurgu and Rielle left the Forgotten Knight.

 

* * *

 

It took some time getting to the Tribunal. They had to dodge the veritable crowd flocking towards there to see the latest trial. Sidurgu honestly found it strange that there was much attention around this particular trial—was it because the defendant was a foreigner?

Sidurgu felt some part of him recoil in disgust at the thought. Bloody Ishgardians and their bloodlust. Nothing save the complete eradication of their enemy would satisfy them.

He and Rielle managed to sneak into the upper parapets of the Tribunal arena, hidden in the shadows. Sidurgu mindlessly adjusted Rielle’s hood and his own as he stared down at the court transforming into an arena. The blood spatters from Fray’s battle were gone, as if Fray themself had never existed. Sidurgu felt a little nauseous but pushed his nausea down to focus. He flicked his gaze to the defendant’s seats.

Not only had they accused the tiny girl, but also an elezen boy who looked even younger than Rielle. He shouldn’t be surprised, yet he felt the shock throughout his system as though he’d been doused in ice cold water. The judge had proclaimed that the boy fight, merely because he was talented in the arcane arts. At least the tiny girl was spared, but that was cold comfort. Something dark and angry frothed at the base of Sidurgu’s throat. This was _wrong_. All of this was _wrong_.

“To the old and the infirm, the young and the weak, this right we allow. Very well. Who will stand for this woman?”

Just as Sidurgu had half a mind to storm in and cut down the wretched accusers himself (and the high adjudicator while he was at it), the doors slammed open. He turned towards the sound and felt his throat go dry.

It was the au ra from the other day.

He watched, dumbfounded, as the au ra strode towards the court-arena with confidence, his footsteps echoing throughout the chamber. The audience burst into excited whispers until the judge rapped his gavel.

“Order, order.” he called, then addressed the au ra. “Will you, Warrior of Light, be fighting in Mistress Tataru Taru’s stead as her champion?”

He nodded.

“Then step forward into the arena.”

 _Warrior of Light?_ That was the infamous Warrior of Light who bested Garlemald’s Black Wolf and took down their major stronghold in Eorzea? Sidurgu gaped as the au ra entered the arena with nary a blade nor staff. Sidurgu was even more bewildered. How was he to fight? Though the boy looked relieved, Sidurgu doubted their chances when he saw the Heavens’ Ward members enter the arena with their menacing weapons.

The judge looked up to the sky and crossed himself.

“O Halone, render unto us Your judgment! Raise up the righteous, and cast down the wicked!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took up like. 7 pages in my google doc _whoops_. anyway, i hope sid and rielle come across as in character here dfksjlk


	3. trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t look at me like that,” the figure chided. “After all, I’m the one who will teach you how to use that soulstone of yours.”
> 
> Masaki furrowed his brow. Soulstone?

 

When he heard the news, Masaki felt the world drop around him.

He’d only been gone for a day at most… If he’d reined in his curiosity, if he hadn’t gone out so late, if he hadn’t slept in so much—no, never mind that. What would become of Alphinaud and Tataru? That paralyzing fear he’d kept locked away since that thrice-damned banquet was beginning to leak through. He had—he had to get them out. Had to save them before this Ser Grinnaux _hurt_ them—

“Their status as wards of House Fortemps should afford them preferential treatment─for a time, at least…” the steward said, wringing his hands anxiously.

That didn’t ease his nerves much, but Masaki could start breathing normally again. If either Count Edmont or his steward noticed the au ra’s silent mental breakdown, Masaki couldn’t tell. He measured the time in between his breaths. Inhaling took two heartbeats; exhaling took three, four heartbeats. All Masaki could think was of his own arrest at the hands of the Crystal Braves, and shuddered. He couldn’t let _that_ happen to them. He wouldn’t. He  _wouldn’t._

A hand rested on Masaki’s shoulder, jolting him out of his head.

“Go to Lord Commander Aymeric—he will know what to do next,” Count Edmont assured with a kind smile that was heartbreakingly familiar. (Masaki thought of warm laughter, gentle smiles—thought of the man who shared his eyes and pushed down the last memory of him.)

He nodded mutely, and practically ran out of the manor.

 

* * *

 

Haurchefant coached him before the trial with a cheer that never failed to bring a smile on Masaki’s lips.

“Should you begin to lose heart, look to me in the stands, and I shall cheer so loud, you will wonder how you could ever have contrived to doubt yourself!” Haurchefant finished with a bright smile. He clapped Masaki’s shoulder and gently squeezed his hands. “Now, are you ready?”

Masaki nodded and managed a small smile to assure Haurchefant, even if his nerves were jittering and frayed.

_Listen to me… Listen…_

The smile fell from his face the moment he opened the doors. He strode towards the stands, trying to ignore the stares and whispers. Masaki kept his eyes forward, kept his eyes on Alphinaud’s and Tataru’s faces. The voice from earlier was silent, but an invisible presence lingered at his side. Then, as he stood before the court, the voice spoke up again.

_You swore an oath to protect the weak and infirm, your friends, your family, your loved ones—did you not?_

He did. He’d always tried his best to uphold this vow since leaving the Steppe.

“Will you, Warrior of Light, be fighting in Mistress Tataru Taru’s stead as her champion?” the judge asked.

He nodded.

“Then step forward into the arena.”

Masaki did so, and immediately went to Alphinaud’s and Tataru’s side in the stands. He hugged them fiercely and fought against his tears when they hugged back. As he pulled away, guilt made it difficult to look them in the eye.

“‘M s’rry,” Masaki murmured.

“What for?” Tataru asked, equally hushed. “We knew you were always going to come back to us. We were a little worried, sure, but none of this was your fault.”

“A little warning in advance might be wise for future outings, though.” Alphinaud quipped. Suddenly Masaki was tempted to rap his knuckles against the boy’s head for his cheek. “Still, I feel much better now that you’re here, friend.” He patted his shoulder. “Now, let us put an end to this mummer’s farce.”

Masaki looked up to see them smile at him. He didn’t deserve their kindness, not when he wasn’t there to prevent their arrests from happening, to protect them. He _needed_  to make up for his wrongs. So he nodded, then turned around to face their opponents with Alphinaud at his side.

For some reason, the white and blue armor sparked the quiet anger in him into full-blown _rage_. The smirks on their lips and their swagger as they strolled into the arena, wielding weapons with an ease that came from experience, only fueled his wrath. These people threatened his own. He wanted to ensure that they would not make that mistake twice.

_Good… let the abyss strengthen you, but do not let it consume you._

He barely understood what the voice meant, but the dark, boiling rage bloomed into something more. It swelled into something warm, something sharp. Whatever this feeling was, it was _intoxicating_. Masaki noticed his foes hesitate for a moment and grinned, with teeth bared.  _Let them see him at his worst._

“O Halone, render unto us Your judgment! Raise up the righteous, and cast down the wicked!”

 

* * *

  

Something was off with Masaki. Alphinaud couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but he didn’t have the time to contemplate it before the high adjudicator announced the start of the trial.

The two members of the Heaven’s Ward moved as one to make the first blow. Alphinaud responded by summoning his carbuncle. Then the Heaven’s Ward split, and one of them swerved towards Masaki.

“Look out!” Alphinaud yelled.

Masaki sidestepped the thrust and the next two in quick succession. He blocked the fourth strike with an ice shield crudely formed on his leg, shattering the ice, and used that momentum to push back.

Alphinaud had his own Heaven’s Ward member to contend with—Ser Grinnaux bore down on him with savage glee.

“Come on, then! You wanted this, remember!?” he bellowed before his axe met a hastily constructed shield.

Alphinaud dove out of the way and commanded his carbuncle. He had to be quick and precise to counter Ser Grinnaux’s slow but brute strength.

Meanwhile, Masaki met Ser Paulecrain blow for blow as flames accompanied each strike. It was clear that he had no trouble keeping up with the Heaven’s Ward, even forcing Paulecrain on the defensive. Alphinaud was slowly gaining the upper-hand of his own battle too, until Ser Grinnaux grew too agitated.

“Enough tricks!” he growled, and suddenly threw out golden chains.

Alphinaud couldn’t react in time when the chains wrapped around him and trapped his arms against his torso. His carbuncle was too weak to free him. Ser Grinnaux began pulling him in and Alphinaud broke out in cold sweat. _Not good—!_

He heard a  _ roar _ , then the chains shattered before his eyes. What happened was too fast for his eyes to comprehend—Masaki was beside him one second, then charging at Ser Grinnaux the next.  _ When had he broken the chains? _ But he couldn’t waste anymore time thinking on that. Grinnaux swung his giant axe towards—

“Masaki!” Alphinaud shouted, “To your right!”

He turned and ducked under the axehead. The axe swung too far for Grinnaux to recover quickly enough. Masaki broke through Grinnaux’s guard and slammed a fistful of fire into his chest. The ensuing explosion sent the man flying from the sheer force of it, and he landed against the ground with a loud clang of his armor. Alphinaud winced.

“Why you—!” Ser Paulecrain leapt to his brother’s aid and aimed his weapon straight at Masaki’s head.

Alphinaud casted a shield over him just in time and the spear bounced off harmlessly. The lancer cursed loudly and turned on him next. The look in his lone eye was murderous. Alphinaud’s heart stopped, fear freezing him in place, until Paulecrain lunged.

The boy scrambled to his feet and frantically summoned his carbuncle to his side. In the seconds it took for Alphinaud to react, Masaki had already intercepted Paulecrain.

He looked bloodied already—Masaki took glancing blows that tore through cloth and skin and burned himself from the intensity of his magic. His flames were so hot, Alphinaud thought the heat might blister his skin. It was as though Masaki was fury incarnate from how _viciously_ he fought. Alphinaud tried his best to minimize injuries with Physick in the chaos.

“Damned _Dravanian_!” Paulecrain hissed, trying to get a good hit in between the fireballs and unrelenting strikes.

Masaki pushed his offense, while Alphinaud instructed his carbuncle to aid him. As soon as Paulecrain faltered, Masaki tackled the lancer to the ground and kicked up a cloud of dust. The crowd went quiet. Alphinaud tensed. He’d seen Paulecrain pointing his spear at Masaki’s heart just before they fell. Was this the end for his friend? After everything, would he die to a spear piercing him through? Alphinaud feared for the worst and chewed his lip to the point of bleeding. 

Then, finally, the dust settled. Masaki held down Paulecrain with a hand at his throat and had trapped his spear in ice, pointed away from himself. Relief flooded through Alphinaud.

Paulecrain snarled but held up his hands. “I yield.”

Masaki immediately released him and stumbled back. The ice melted within seconds, freeing the lancer. Alphinaud heard someone cough their lungs out, and turned to see Ser Grinnaux stagger upright with a wicked black patch over his once pristine, white cuirass.

“I yield as well,” he rasped.

The crowd erupted into cacophony. Alphinaud tuned out the high adjudicator announcing his and Tataru’s innocence to rush towards Masaki’s side. Up close, he looked as though he’d been wrestling with a dragon—blood stained his clothes all over, and there were patches of burns on his hands and forearms. It was a miracle that he still stood with those injuries! Alphinaud could’ve sworn that Physick mitigated the worst of them….

“Ok’y?” Masaki slurred, teetering slightly in place.

Alphinaud only gaped at him. Then, “Are you—are you _mad?_  Look at you! You need to be seen to a chirurgeon immediately!”

He shrugged in reply. Alphinaud felt the urge to smack him, but he didn’t want to agitate his wounds any further. Instead, he threw up his hands and opted to fetch someone for Masaki. Tataru sat with him so he didn’t run off on his own.

Fighting for his life left Alphinaud drained, and he hadn’t sustained any injuries aside from a scrape or two because Masaki had taken the brunt of the damage. How did he do this so often?

Alphinaud glanced back and saw him smiling as Tataru scolded him. It was at that moment that he noticed a strange red light in Masaki’s eyes. Maybe it was some strange trick of the light or his exhaustion was getting to him because when Alphinaud blinked, it was gone.

 

* * *

 

It was a while before Masaki could escape Tataru in a moment of distraction. He was _fine_. There was no need for a healer, he just needed to disinfect the wounds and let his blessing do the rest. He told himself as such as he staggered out from the back of the Tribunal, away from prying eyes.

A familiar armored figure blocked his way.

“Hold it. We still need to talk about the darkness growing within you,” the figure said, their golden eyes staring right through him. His back scales stiffened. His tail curled defensively, as if ready to strike within a moment’s notice.

What was there to talk about? He was aware of his flaws, and he didn’t need someone else to explain them to him.

His doubt must’ve shown on his face, because the figure stared at him and snorted a derisive laugh. Masaki clenched his fists, ignoring his stinging, raw skin. He didn’t like this figure’s apparently keen eyes, didn’t like the familiarity of their voice. What did they want from him?

“Don’t look at me like that,” the figure chided. “After all, I’m the one who will teach you how to use that soulstone of yours.”

Masaki furrowed his brow. Soulstone? Was it why he was seeing a corpse walk as though they were alive? Was it the reason for the strange voice in his head? He slipped a hand into his pocket and curled his fingers around the jagged stone protectively. Masaki didn’t understand why he was so protective over it—he didn’t sense any ill will from the figure. They’d given it to him, after all. And yet…

“Stop thinking and _look at me_.” the figure snapped. Masaki jerked back, startled from his thoughts. In spite of their harsh words, the figure continued in a strangely fond, gentle tone: “You’re always getting stuck inside your head. I haven’t even had the chance to introduce myself.

“The name’s Fray.”

Fray… he thought the name sounded tragic for some reason. Masaki kept that to himself as Fray sized him up. Despite being taller than Fray, he felt small under those golden eyes.

“Anyway, everyone has a little darkness. One might say it’s even healthy. But you… you’ve a wellspring to draw from.” Fray said, then paused. They tilted their head in thought. “Though you didn’t do so bad for your first try.”

He was lost. First try? Was it that strange, dark sensation he felt at the start of the trial? Fray tapped the side of their helmet and their eyes turned coy.

“You already know what it is. Seek me out when you wish to learn more,” they said, and their eyes glinted red for a second. “You need only ask.”

Masaki blinked, and then Fray was gone.

He stood there, dumbfounded, as his blood dripped on the ground. Fray read his thoughts far too well for a phantom. Do spirits have that sort of insight? And were they always that vague? The various aches throughout his body reminded him of his earlier errand. Right, it wouldn’t do to just stand stupidly out in the cold. He turned towards the direction of the Fortemps Manor when he heard footsteps behind him.

“You.”

Masaki turned around. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this up rlly quick bcs i was super excited for this chp ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ then i realized i just rewrote the fight scene from the other fic, which... doesn't rlly do much to progress the story but it was fun to write anyway sdfkjl
> 
> oh well ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**Author's Note:**

> i didn't like how i paced the other fic, so i'm rewriting it with a new spin! *yoshi-p voice* please look forward to it.
> 
> i'm also active on [twitter](https://twitter.com/qcstir) if you wanna chat or yell at me about ffxiv and drk quest npcs.


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